The Long Walk
by Abby J and Amber L
Summary: What was really going through Jed and Ellie's minds as they walked down the aisle? A postep for The Wedding


The Long Walk -- A Post-ep for The Wedding

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to NBC, WB, and Aaron Sorkin. I'm just borrowing them

Author's Notes: The song Butterfly Kisses is by Bob Carlisle

Left. Right. Left. Right.

I know the motion all too well, but tonight, I plan to make this the longest walk in history. Ellie tugs gently on my arm, a cue to help me hurry it along. I think she knows my problem isn't the pace. The pace is simply a result of my not wanting to let her go.

I look at her then. It's a glance that sparks emotions I can no longer hide. My eyes swell when I remember the day she was born. So small. So fragile. I held her in my arms and rocked her to sleep for the first time that very night. When she learned how to smile, Lizzie was the first to notice because Lizzie was the one she was smiling at. Then, a few days later, it was Abbey.

It took her a solid week before she pointed that beautiful smile in my direction. I tried everything to get her to do it. I bounced her, I swung her, I threw her up in the air. She never broke that frown. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. Abbey said it was just my own insecurities. She didn't understand it was more than that, for that was the moment I learned that I couldn't always please my little girl.

She grew up so fast. The terrible twos weren't so terrible with Ellie. She was always her mother's daughter and Abbey kept a tight reign on her.

She was the shy one, the one who hated to speak in public, who dreaded doing presentations and oral reports. I knew that about her all along, though I never quite understood it. She knew I didn't understand and she strived to make me proud in other ways. What she didn't realize is that I was always proud of her, regardless.

Abbey still teases me about the 20-minute conversation with the King of Sweden about Ellie's multiplication tables and her soccer team. That's a father's right, isn't it? To brag about his little girl. Granted, most probably don't do it in their Nobel Prize acceptance speech and at the reception afterwards, but they do all do it.

I'm reminded of her teenage years. Raising daughters can drive any man out of his mind, especially when they start dating. But Ellie always respected our rules. Her boyfriends were never strangers. She doesn't know it, but I walked in on her once as she accepted an invitation to her school dance.

"You have to meet my dad first because he'll want to check you out," she told him.

"What if he doesn't like me?" he must have asked.

"He won't let me go," she replied.

I taught her well.

It seems my pace must have slowed even more because I feel another tug and she gives me a warning glance. I speed up only slightly as we round the corner and take the stairs.

I'm filled with regret. It was only six years ago that I learned Ellie was frightened of me, of the Presidency, and that she didn't feel I loved her as much as I did her sisters. Nothing could be further from the truth, but I cringe at the thought that she went through her childhood believing something like that. I wish I had known years earlier because I would have immediately banished the foolish theory from her mind.

We had our spats while she was growing up, just like all families do, but I never played favorites between my girls. That's because I loved each and every one for their own unique personalities. Lizzie, the somewhat rebellious yet mature, confident one. Ellie, the shy and honest one, the peacemaker in the family. Zoey, my sweet baby whom Abbey and I spoiled quite a bit, the loyal one who has yet to leave the nest.

My disagreements with Ellie were no greater than the ones I had with Liz or Zoey. At least, not until I ran for President. She wasn't there. Her mother and her sisters were. Abbey's parents were. Millie and Leo were. But Ellie wasn't there. We'd catch up with her every few weeks as she reluctantly flew out to fill in as a surrogate at those events the rest of us couldn't attend. Every time she did that, I felt she hated me that much more.

I was bringing her into a life she never truly liked in the first place. This was the big leagues, beyond the congressional district and the governor's mansion. This was for a place at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and for Ellie, it was obvious, this was a run she never supported.

The rift that formed between us during the campaign never really healed until Zoey was kidnapped. Abbey blamed me. Liz was angry. It was Ellie who stood beside me. As the rest of the family loaded the cars on the way to the special mass to pray for Zoey, Ellie slid in beside me and took me hand.

"Don't you want to ride with your mother?" I asked her. "She needs you."

"Liz is with her," she replied. "Besides, one of the things they teach in medical school is when you're handling a disaster, you prioritize. Triage. You get to those who need you most."

And with a tender squeeze of her hand, I realized my relationship with Ellie wasn't as damaged as I once thought. I always knew I loved her, but now, I knew without a doubt that she loved me too.

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He's walking slower and slower. Every time I tug on his arm, it speeds him up for about five seconds, and then he slows down again. As if I don't notice. As if I can't tell that a tiny ant passed us seven strides ago. I won't say anything though because I'm kind of enjoying our stroll.

I once asked my mother if I'd ever be lucky enough to have the kind of fairytale marriage she has.

She looked me in the eye and answered, "Ellie, you're going to have a love story all your own. There are just two things you need to do. One, be sure you're in love before you get married. And two, find a man as good as your father."

I hope I have.

I think of all those nights when I was a little girl. Lizzie and Zoey were so outgoing. They were always into something new - the school play, cheerleading, ballet. They were lured to anything that included large crowds.

Not me. I was the bookworm, the one who enjoyed blending in to the background instead of stealing the spotlight. Dad never really understood. In fact, I felt like he judged. It was visible in the way he would furrow his brows when I couldn't bring myself to defend my book report in third grade. For a long time, I thought he was mad.

But then, we all went to Stockholm and after one of the parades honoring the Nobel laureates, I got to shake the King's hand and he asked me, "What's two times four?"

I looked at my father and he returned my stare with a smile so huge, his ears began to crinkle.

"Eight," I answered.

He winked at me, then turned to Dad and said, "You're right. This is a sharp one. And just as adorable as you described her."

Dad leaned forward and kissed the top of my head and my mother simply nodded. She had told me many, many times how proud Dad was of me. I never believed it until that moment.

There was still tension between us throughout my childhood and into my teen years, but now I wonder if it wasn't my fault. He was gone a lot, back and forth from Washington to fulfill his congressional responsibilities. When he was home, we rarely talked. I remember him trying many times, but the longer he was gone, the more distant I felt.

It was a life I didn't understand. One I didn't want to live. I campaigned with him now and then when he was in the New Hampshire State House. All that entailed was walking with him to meet and greet constituents. It was when he ran for the U.S. House of Representatives that I shied away completely.

Six years in Washington took its toll, not only on him, but on all of us. Mom was working practically around the clock and the adjustment was almost too much to bear. For them too. There were lots of arguments, between Mom and Dad, Mom and Liz, even Zoey and Liz.

My job was to be the ear, the one everyone turned to after a fight. Everyone except Dad. He never once walked into my room to complain. He never once dragged me into the middle of the squabbles. I wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want to burden me with problems or if he just didn't trust me the way he did Liz.

It got easier after that first year, but things really settled down when he ran for Governor. He had more responsibilities, the job was definitely larger, but at least he was home.

Only three years later, all our lives changed forever. I was 18 and he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. He seemed to change practically overnight. First, he was reluctant to believe it. Denial is quite common with an illness such as MS. Then, he was angry. At the doctors. At the tests. At himself. It took him years to fully understand and acknowledge his disease. Sometimes, I'm still not sure he has.

He never accepted it, not completely. He rebelled against it. That's why he ran for President. That's why I rallied against him. I couldn't bring myself to support a move that would take him away from us that much sooner.

I rarely showed up on the campaign trail. I rarely gave speeches or talked to reporters. I buried myself in school, finally committing to a major in Biochemistry and a career in medicine. Of course my mother had influenced me, but it wasn't until his diagnosis that I officially declared my major, positive that I wanted to be a doctor.

The only lie I ever told was when I said it was my studies that kept me away from the campaign. He was so mad at me for that, but I didn't care because I was so mad at him. Mom told me it was his decision to run. She said this was what he wanted to do and it was our job to stand beside him. I failed my job that year and for a long time, I thought I altered our relationship forever.

But now, he's gripping my arm with all his might and I can tell in the way he just glanced at me that all has been forgiven. His tears are infectious and as I stare into his blue eyes, I realize my own are starting to water. He stops then and frames my face with his hands, his thumb swiping the sensitive skin just under my bottom lashes to soak up the moisture before it clings to my mascara and streaks my makeup.

Mom taught him well.

"You look so beautiful," he says.

"Walk me down the aisle, Daddy," I respond.

And he does. I hear him singing in direct defiance of what I warned him about during the rehearsal. He's not even singing along with the song that's playing. Instead, he's singing the lyrics of a song I didn't even know he knew.

Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle.

I don't stop him. I let him continue because he's slowing down again and now, I realize I'm glad he is. I want to hear the rest of the song before he gives me away.

The End 


End file.
